


Tattoos

by tomioneer



Series: JayTim Week 2016 [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Jason has magical powers, M/M, New 52, let's talk about that, this is sometime after the waffle conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 19:12:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7653385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomioneer/pseuds/tomioneer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So you’re sure,” Tim starts, and Jason’s eyes fix on the purse and stretch of lips bitten pink, “You have a mystical power you never even use?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tattoos

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my very first attempt at an actual shipping week, but it's JayTim and I found the prompts in time and just. I wanted to try. And given the first prompt, "Tattoo", I took this chance to explore the All-Blades a little bit.
> 
> There's a small amount of anatomical jargon at the start, but it's just a muscle in the arm.
> 
> EDIT: Special thanks to thienna for pointing out my mistake re: All-Blades, not All-Swords! Fixed now.
> 
> Enjoy!

With a heavy sigh in place of open reluctance, Jason lays his arms on the table, knuckles resting on cold wood and palms open to the air. They’re once again on the Lex Towers balcony when honestly Jason shouldn’t even be in the country. Something keeps bringing him back ‘round to his replacement’s B.O.O.--maybe the freedom to reference his past without explaining any of it, maybe the fact that if he doesn’t bring it up, it doesn’t get mentioned, maybe the way the wind whips through his hair without the Hood on. Fuck, just being able to know that it’s inside on the couch, all but forgotten by both of them, is enough.

Thumbs press into his flexor carpi radialis, slid down the tendon towards his hand. The pressure it just enough to curl his fingers involuntarily inward, and Jason glances at Tim through his lashes. Being studied like this has become an odd sort of norm for him; he’s used to the way Tim’s gaze seems to slice him into layers and peel them up one at a time. “So you’re sure,” Tim starts, and Jason’s eyes fix on the purse and stretch of lips bitten pink, “You have a mystical power you never even _use_?”

“Red,” he answers, and blue eyes flash briefly to his face, then to Jason’s other arm, which Tim prods with his other thumb. “If you ever see me using my woo-woo powers, fucking _run_.”

Smirking, Tim hunches his shoulders and digs his thumbs into the muscles again, up the length of Jason’s arms. It’s less comfortable that way and he scowls. Laughing, Tim flicks his left hand, withdraws, and props his chin on both hands. “It only manifests around pure evil, right? So--Damian?”

He has to snort at that. His two younger--’brothers’, Jason supposes Alfred would have him call them--still aren’t getting along. Given Jason’s current relationship with Dick and, hell, pretty much everyone but Tim, he can’t say he minds having an ally against the rest. Though Tim’s remark isn’t entirely accurate--Jason can only summon the All-Blades before absolute evil, but the _power_ is always there. “Don’t really spend enough time with the kid to be sure, but you’ll be the first it know if it happens.”

“How do you tell?” is the next question, followed immediately by, “I mean what physical sensations or alterations occur.”

“There’s a burn,” Jason admits, sitting back in his chair. The shirtsleeves he leaves rolled up, though he feels strangely exposed. Probably from the curious light in Tim’s eyes as he tracks the movement of Jason’s forearms. “A... bone-deep sting, I guess. It only lasts a second. The Blades’ true power comes from blood, so that hurts, but I died from much worse.”

It’s another small test--Jason gives these a lot, passing them out like candy to the people he wants to spend time with. He was surprised the first time he caught himself giving Tim one of these precious chances to fuck him over, then delighted at the response--the one Tim’s more or less stuck with since. Bright blue eyes roll almost into Tim’s skull, hard enough to make him sway a bit in his seat. “Please. After what all of us have been through, a burn or sting is hardly worth mentioning. What _else_?”

Fingers drumming on the table’s edge, Jason glances out over the cityscape and watches the sun rise by increments. Thinking back to when he first experienced this power, to Essence and the Monks, to behind held underwater by mystic forces and learning _not to breathe_ because he had no other choice... Jason shakes his head. There’s too much to dwell on, and none of it good. The good things from back in his training days, he left behind a long time ago. As for the other things... the darkness and impurity Ducra warned him about, gave him visions of, what he always felt and ignored with Essence? That memory pools thick and uncomfortable on the back of his tongue, and he feels like he needs to be sick. Finally Jason settles on, “It itches. Being around... something so corrupt, so disturbing. My skin crawls, and I feel heavy. It’s distracting, but it just makes me fight harder.”

“Have you had to do this often?” Tim asks next, crossing his arms on the table and frowning. “There are no records of you having mystic powers, Red. If you hadn’t mentioned the tattoos to me, I might never have known.”

“Because the Boss doesn’t know,” Jason explains, and leaves it as that. Nodding, Tim’s eyes dip once again to his arm. With a sigh, Jason extends it, fist curled, muscles taut. Breathing in deeply, he tastes--the city air, the sick combination of smog and an early coastal breeze coming in. It’s chilly up here, and that’s why Tim’s bundled up in a dark, baggy sweater Jason would swear is from his old closet at the Manor. (If the kid’s got a thing for hand-me-downs Jason doesn’t mind; he left everything from that life behind a long time ago, too. The cuffs cover half his hands, and it’s... cute. Childlike, giving the brat an oddly innocent air despite his sharp eyes and quick wit. Idiosyncratic.) Feeling each breath make its way through him, the expansion of his chest and throb of blood in his veins and arteries, Jason summons up the calm, the cold, the breathlessness of that rebirthing ritual Ducra put him through.

When he opens his eyes Tim’s face is washed with familiar pink light, and one of the oldest languages in the world is scrawled down his arms.


End file.
